


It's A Kind Of Magic

by tattooeddevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Crossdressing, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The case was straightforward enough; a spirit attacking prostitutes in San Francisco while they were chatting up a possible customer. And then they got the full lowdown. Imagine this: Sam’s linebacker shoulders, a slinky red dress and an overly excited crossdress store manager. It’s a recipe for disaster, as far as Sam is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Kind Of Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sylvia_Locust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvia_Locust/gifts).



The case was straightforward enough; a spirit attacking prostitutes in San Francisco while they were chatting up a possible customer. Sounded easy; a simple salt and burn and get out of town quick. Something to do while they waited for Kevin to get back to them with some new information.

And then they got the full lowdown.

“Transvestites?”

Sam chuckled at Dean’s disgusted tone and closed the lid on his laptop. “I told you, you weren’t gonna like it.”

Dean pouted before taking a long drink from his beer. “And here I was, ready to save me some hookers.”

“You’ll still get to save hookers, just not your kind of hookers.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why would a guy dress up as a woman and then go out to pick up men? I don’t get it, it’s weird.”

Sam shrugged. “To each their own, I guess.”

Dean fixed suddenly worried eyes on Sam. “I don’t have to see them naked, do I?”

Sam laughed out loud now. “No, you don’t have to see them naked. They get attacked outside, long before anyone takes any clothing off. Don’t worry, there will be no naked men’s bits in your face.”

Dean huffed, but didn’t respond. Sam was always amused when Dean went all prudish on him. It wasn’t like he’d never seen naked men before, hell, they saw each other naked almost on a daily basis what with the small motel rooms and no privacy, but Dean somehow always seemed disgusted by other men’s nakedness. To be honest, Sam wasn’t in a hurry to see any man’s naked bits either. Now that he got his own room at the Batcave, he liked getting up in the mornings and not get an eye full of Dean in all his glory first thing.

“Whatever, you prude. So, we going or what?”

Dean shrugged and looked around the crappy motel of the week. It had what he guessed was a forest theme, but he really couldn’t tell if it were tree leaves or marijuana leaves. The musky smell didn’t really do anything to dissuade him of the conviction the motel was actually an elaborate cover-up for a weed plantation, and while he enjoyed a joint every now and then, he wasn’t in the mood for it now.

“Yeah, let’s get out of this dump.”

*******

“Do you even know where you’re going, Dean?”

“Of course I know. It’s seven on a Friday night, just follow the expensive company cars with closeted gay yuppies that should be at home with their wives and newborn babies, but instead are crossing town to find their favorite man-hooker.”

Sam shook his head in amusement. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything more depressing.”

Dean shrugged. “Not like I invented it.”

“We could just use the map, you know. I even have Google Maps on my phone. There’s no need to play private detective through San Francisco.”

Dean rolled his eyes violently at Sam. “I’m not playing private detective, you ass. Do I look like Magnum P.I. to you?”

“Well, for one, Tom Selleck is a lot hairier than you, though I can’t be sure there aren’t any flowered shirts lurking at the bottom of your duffle bag, I haven’t checked it recently.”

Dean scowled at him, but Sam was on a roll now. “Not to mention you’d have to grow a porn ’stache--”

“That one. Expensive Audi, wrong side of town, young guy with too much hair product and a flashy watch. If we follow him, we find the right street.”

Sam huffed at the rude cut-off. “How do you know?”

Dean smirked at him sideways. “Trust me, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t want to think about how Dean knew this stuff. At all. Ever.

*******

Sure enough, the car they followed led them straight to the street where the supposedly haunted prostitutes were working. Dean parked the Impala at the curb, which immediately drew attention, but when he got out, the attention was solely on him. Catcalls, whistles and the occasional swoon traveled up and down the street and Dean seemed to bask in it. He smirked, grinned and winked his way from the curb to the club, a spring in his step Sam hadn’t seen in a long time.

Dean was enjoying this.

Huh.

Inside the club, an old, tired-looking woman was already waiting for them. “You must be Dean and Sam. Thanks for coming. Garth says you can help. I’m Janice.”

Sam wasn’t sure what he expected from a drag club, but this wasn’t it. There was so much glitter around, it almost blinded him. A big runway split the large square room in half, with seats on either side. The backdrop was a sparkly silver curtain, mirrors lined the sides of the runway and there were three stripper poles on the stage.

“Is that purple velvet?”

Janice glanced at the walls of the club and nodded. “Sure is. And before you ask, yes, the bar is covered in leather and all the seats are lined with feathered boas.”

Sam wasn’t sure if she was proud or extremely sarcastic.

“The boas are a tribute to Joanne.”

That rang a bell somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind. “That’s the spirit that’s attacking the people outside?”

Janice nodded. “He-- well, **she** , Joanne, was a celebrity in the drag world. She was the queen of drag queens.”

Janice’s voice broke a little and Sam had to resist quirking an eyebrow at the pun. Dean had no qualms about sniggering like a five-year-old though. “Queen, funny.”

Sam elbowed him with a glare. “Shut up, dude.”

He turned back to Janice, who was wiping her eyes with a silk, pink handkerchief and smiled sympathetically at her. “I’m sorry. Dean can be a child sometimes.”

Janice gave him a watery smile and shot Dean a glare before continuing her story. “Everybody loved Joanne; her shows were always the best. She had so many admirers and fans. One of our regulars used to ask her to run away with him every time she performed. Joanne was amazing and the accident was just so tragic.”

Janice pointed to a few small steps at the side of the stage. “She stepped on the train of her dress and tripped down those steps. Broke her neck, there was nothing we could do.”

Sam could sense the snort bubbling up Dean’s chest and he stomped on his brother’s foot before it could leave his mouth.

“Ouch! What did you do that for?”

Sam ignored Dean in favor of smiling at Janice. “Why would Joanne be attacking the women - men? - outside?”

“Women. I think it’s because Joanne doesn’t approve of their-- profession.”

“So Joanne wasn’t a--”

Janice grimaced. “Prostitute? No. She was just a performer, an entertainer. She would complain about the women out front loudly every chance she got. Even John – that’s his real name and persona - hated what those women do.”

“Has anyone ever seen Joanne as she attacked them?”

“No, they were always pushed and held down on their fronts. But who else could it be?”

“Is there anything of Joanne’s here? Anything that was hers or that she was attached to when she was alive?”

Sam was momentarily stunned by Dean’s question. It seemed Dean was finally taking the case seriously. Janice pointed at a gold feathered boa hanging above the leather-clad bar.

“That boa was hers. She wore it when she fell. We kept it as a memorial of sorts. We all miss her so much.”

Janice started crying openly after that and Dean pulled Sam away and to the exit by his jacket sleeve. Sam was left waving and smiling apologetically at Janice as they made their hasty retreat. “Thanks Janice, we’ll get back to you!”

Once outside, he ripped his arm from Dean’s grip and glared at him. “Way to be rude, Dean, the woman was **crying**!”

“Exactly why we needed to get out. She told us everything we needed to know. Burn the boa, vanquish Joanne - John, whatever - and go back to Kansas. I miss my own bed.”

Knowing there wasn’t any arguing with Dean, Sam followed him to the car. When he climbed in, Dean smirked at him before starting the engine. “You know, it’s kinda funny the guy’s called John. You know, **John** being all pissed off about women selling themselves to **john’s**.”

Sam rolled his eyes violently at the bad pun.

“Just drive, you moron.”

*******

“I told you I don’t have a tell.”

Dean sounded smug and Sam groaned. This was the worst time **ever** to be wrong.

“So, what’s it gonna be? Little black dress? Gold sequins? Or a princess ball gown?”

Sam hung his head with another groan. “Do we have to do this? Isn’t there another way to lure Joanne out? Can’t we just go back to the club and burn her boa?”

“We can, but what if it’s not Joanne? You know how emotional people are; they see what they want to see. Maybe Janice thinks it’s Joanne because she wants it to be Joanne. Wishful thinking and all that.”

As much as Dean was right, Sam also thought it was a load of bull and they should really go with his plan. If only to get him out of dressing up like a drag queen. When he said as much, Dean merely laughed and sat down behind his laptop.

“Whatever you say, Sammy, you know I’m right. You’re doing this.”

Sam whined, something he would have never done otherwise, but they were talking crossdressing here. He never would have agreed with Dean’s plan if he thought he would lose the rock-paper-scissors game to decide which of them got to dress up. The joke was on him though and now he had to face eternal humiliation from Dean. He chose to forget he’d do the same to Dean if he had lost the game.

“I found a shop that sells what we need.”

“Yeah? A length of rope and enough height so I can hang myself properly?”

Dean chuckled at Sam’s desperate tone and turned the laptop towards him so he could see the screen. It said “Janet’s Closet” in big, pink letters and there were several pictures of men in drag on the homepage.

“Just a few miles away and it’s still open. Let’s go.”

If Sam dragged his feet as he followed Dean out to the car, he was fully justified.

*******

Janet’s Closet was as big and sparkly inside as their website was. Sam came this-close to turning back around and walking out, but Dean grabbed him tightly by the arm and steered him towards the desk. They passed racks of dresses, fake breasts, wigs and garter belts and Sam nearly had a heart attack when he came eye to eye with a row of boxes that promised an “invisible tuck-away”.

This was so wrong, on so many levels.

Dean didn’t seem fazed by it though. Once at the desk, he merrily chimed the bell, never letting go of his death grip on Sam’s arm. It took just a few seconds for a short, thin man to emerge from the back. His eyes widened slightly when he spotted Dean and Sam saw his brother stand a little straighter. But then the guy’s eyes landed on Sam and he blushed five different shades of red as his jaw dropped. Sam shuffled in place uncomfortably. This sort of effect on people was usually Dean’s department and the man’s blatant stare was unnerving. Dean looked momentarily put out, but he quickly perked up when he realized what it meant.

Endless Sammy teasing.

Damn it.

When Sam cleared his throat, it startled the guy from his shock and a predatory grin appeared around his lips. He practically swayed forward and gripped Sam’s hand, leaning in close to purr in Sam’s ear. “I’m Nathan, but you can call me ‘baby’.”

Sam jerked away from Nathan and stumbled back. “I’m- I’m Sam, this is my brother, Dean.”

Nathan glanced at Dean briefly, before fixing his gaze on Sam again. “Sam. Well, what can I do for you today, Sam?”

The way Nathan said his name, it sounded like an indecent proposal and a promise all in one and Sam swallowed. Dean wasn’t going to be of any help, he was still gripping Sam’s arm to prevent him from bolting while grinning like the cat that got the canary.

“Uhm-- I uhm-- I need--”

“He needs an outfit. Dress, wig, shoes, the works.”

Unadulterated glee colored Dean’s voice and Sam mumbled a curse under his breath. He could feel the bright red blush creep up from his collar, spreading over his face. “Yes, that.”

Nathan squeed at that - **squeed** \- and Sam groaned inwardly. This was bad.

Really bad.

“The Queen of the Night treatment, it is! I bet you look **amazing** in red.”

Nathan scurried off, excitedly listing off things they needed, and Sam turned to Dean with a death glare. “I hate you. I really, really hate you.”

Dean merely grinned.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

*******

“How are you doing in there, gorgeous?”

Sam groaned silently at Nathan’s seductive drawl and banged his head against the full length mirror in the changing booth.

“What was that? Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just bumped my elbow. Don’t come in!”

It was ludicrous he had to say that, but Nathan had stormed in unannounced three times now, every time with a lame excuse just to see if he could catch Sam with his ass or dick out. It was getting old fast, not to mention embarrassing.

Sam stared at the red silk dress hanging in front of him. He gulped, knowing he needed to get into it.

“Did you get the breastplate on okay?”

Unfortunately, yes. He looked ridiculous with fake breasts. The normal view down his body wasn’t obscured by breasts. It was fucking weird. Nathan had handed him the plate and two silicone fillings and had grinned wickedly. “Big breasts for a big man.”

It had sounded dangerously dirty.

“Yes, I got it.”

“And do the stockings fit okay? Did you get them clipped on the garter belt?”

Sam glanced down at his fishnet clad legs, hair sticking out awkwardly, but no way was he waxing or shaving or anything. He had refused panty hose, simply because they had looked extremely uncomfortable and way, way too small, but now that his leg hair was tangling with the fishnet stockings, he wasn’t sure if he had made the right choice.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

Nathan ignored the leave-me-alone hint and plowed on with more questions.

“How about the tuck-away? Need any help?”

Nathan sounded way too excited about that.

Sam panicked. “No! No, **don’t** come in here, I don’t need help!”

Especially not with tucking his dick in some kind of torture device, designed to make it look like he didn’t have a cock. It had taken him a good amount of time figuring out how to put it on in the first place, and then at least half an hour getting it right. It felt even worse than it had looked in the box. Thankfully he didn’t have to see the contraption, Nathan had given him panties to wear over them. Matching red silk, lacy panties with gold hearts on them.

He knew he was stalling, but he so wasn’t ready to put on the dress and walk out to Nathan and Dean.

Especially Dean.

Much to Sam’s eternal gratitude, Nathan didn’t actually barge with his shoes, just handed a pair of sparkly red high heels through a cracked open door.

“These would look fabulous with that dress. They’ll make your ass look fantastic.”

Sam took the shoes with a sigh and mumbled a thank you. Dean had kicked him earlier, when he finally got fed up with Sam’s whining, saying he needed to suck it up and just do it, or Dean would make the whole thing even worse. Sam didn’t know how, but he had no doubt Dean could in fact make things worse and he wasn’t about to subject himself to even more humiliation and torture. So he squeezed his feet into the shoes and grabbed hold of the door to keep from falling over immediately.

How did women do this?

And then all that was left was the dress. This was it. The moment of truth. Sam was putting on a dress. It seemed a bit silly, feeling nervous putting on a dress when he was already wearing fake breasts, fishnet stockings, a garter belt and had his dick tucked between his legs, but it felt like a big deal. If he put on this dress, he’d be a man in women’s clothing and there would be no going back.

It wasn’t the first time Sam thought this was a bad idea.

The fabric felt oddly nice against his skin and he scowled to himself in the mirror. He smoothed down the dress and chanced a glance down to his toes and back up.

“I look hideous.”

“What was that, Rapunzel?”

“Seriously, Dean? After this is all over, I am finding a way to get back at you and you won’t like it.”

Dean chuckled from the other side of the door and rattled it impatiently. “Just come out already, I’m bored and it’s getting late. We need to get back to the club and lure this ghost out.”

Sam sighed and hung his head for a few seconds. “Fine. Just-- No pictures. None. Promise me.”

Dean chuckled again and Sam knew he rolled his eyes and held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Fine, I promise. Just come out and let Nathan drool over you so we can go.”

Nathan’s name made Sam groan again, but he knew Dean was right. They needed to get back to the club and solve this case. As far as Sam was concerned, it was John. They’d salt and burn the boa without Sam ever having going out in public looking like he did, but he knew Dean was right. They needed to be sure it was Joanne - John - and not some other spirit. They’d been wrong before and they’d learned their lesson.

He checked himself in the mirror one last time before slowly pushing the door open and carefully shuffling out. He kept his eyes to the floor, not needing the added humiliation of Dean’s first reaction, but it was a lost cause. As soon as he was out the changing room, Dean made a choking sort of noise before doubling over with laughter.

Damn him.

*******

Dean hadn’t stopped laughing for eight straight minutes. Sam knew this, because he timed it. He knew that when he stepped out of the small changing room in full gear, Dean would not be able to contain himself. He was right.

"I hate you."

Dean gasped for enough air to force out, "Really, Ariel", before he succumbed to another fit of hysterical laughter. The noise attracted Nathan, who squeaked when his eyes landed on Sam. His mouth fell open in an “o” and his eyes grew the size of saucers. Sam could see the color rise to Nathan’s cheeks and he knew what was coming next.

“Oh my. **Sam**. You look **fabulous**. No. Scrumptious. Delicious. Gorgeous. To die for. Devine!”

Nathan stepped closer, hands reaching for Sam, but never touching. “I don’t know where to start!”

That sent Dean into another laughing fit and Sam sighed, annoyed. “I really don’t get why I have to do this, Dean. You’re the one with the pouty lips and the girly eyelashes! This is stupid, I look stupid.”

Dean grinned and shook his head. “You already have the girly name, **Samantha** , so who better?”

Nathan nodded and sighed dreamily. “He doesn’t have your natural beauty, Sam. Your flair, your style, your grace.”

Dean choked. “ **Grace?** You’re kidding, right? He’s like a bull in a china shop!”

He flapped a hand towards Sam. “Look at him! He looks like a linebacker in a dress, for fuck’s sake!”

Nathan nodded again, staring at Sam hungrily. “And a gorgeous one at that.”

Sam held up a hand to stop them both. “Okay, okay. We’ll take this. Now can we go?”

Nathan shook his head vehemently. “No! No, you still need a wig, a purse and accessories. And we can’t forget the make-up!”

He was out the changing room area before Sam could protest, so he chose to glare at Dean until Nathan came back. Dean grinned and ran a teasing hand along Sam’s back, all the way to his ass. Sam slapped Dean’s hand away and stumbled back a few steps.

“Dean! Stop it! God, I hate you so much right now.”

That sent Dean into a giggle-fit again, leaving Sam to try and keep his balance on the high heels. His feet were already starting to ache and he had only stood on the heels for a few minutes.

This night was going to suck.

Thankfully, it didn’t take Nathan long to come back, his arms loaded with what Sam could only describe as stuff. There was a lot of hair, heaps of sparkles and an alarming amount of fake jewelry. Sam looked at Dean, hoping he would come to the rescue, but his brother was already browsing through the things Nathan had dumped on the desk. They were loudly arguing over matching purses, earrings, wigs and make-up, ignoring the six foot four, silk clad drag queen with the impressive frown on his face behind them. When Sam couldn’t take any more, he cleared his throat.

“I’m giving you five minutes before I strip and leave.”

Nathan seemed tempted by the idea for a second, no doubt by the possibility of Sam stripping, but Dean hurried to hold out a brown wig, a red clutch and gold bracelets. The clutch and the bracelets, Sam could do, but the wig?

“No way, man, I am not doing the wig.”

Dean rolled his eyes and waved the wig at him to take. “No offense, but the Fabio hair you’ve got going on right now doesn’t quite make you look enough like a woman.”

“Enough for you to constantly call me a woman, but not enough to convince men looking for a drag queen to--

He swallowed “bang” just on time, Nathan didn’t need to know what they were planning. Dean grinned and wiggled the wig at him again. “Yes, now put it on.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled the wig from between Dean’s hands. “Fine. But then we go.”

*******

It took another half an hour before they were out the door, much to Sam’s dismay. It was a bitch to get the wig on straight and his unruly hair tucked under it, even with Nathan’s help and then Nathan had insisted on doing his make-up. Dean hadn’t been helpful, goading Nathan on to the point Sam had to threaten physical harm if Nathan didn’t get his hands off of Sam. And even then, Dean had still ribbed Nathan on.

Dean was going to get what he deserved for sure.

Especially after he helped Nathan pin Sam down on the chair and wax the piece of his chest that was visible under the halter of the dress.

Bastards were lucky he couldn’t move so fast in his heels.

He cuffed Dean on the back of his head as they made their way to the car though, with a promise of worse things later. Dean chuckled and held the door for Sam as he folded himself inside. “Whatever you say, Cinderella.”

The drive back to the club was fast, too fast for Sam’s liking, and then they were there. He had to get out and walk the street, looking like the worst drag queen in the history of drag queens. He looked ridiculous and Dean knew it too. Sam still wasn’t convinced it was really necessary, but Dean was adamant they lure the ghost out and make sure it was John. Something about it being a waste to burn the wrong boa.

Dean was weird sometimes.

There was no arguing with him though, and deep down Sam knew he had a point, so he just had to suck it up and get out.

Any minute now.

“Come on, Ariel, get out and strut your stuff.”

Sam glared at Dean. “Not helping, Dean. Shut up.”

And how the hell did he know so many Disney princesses by name anyway?

“You’re gonna have to get out eventually, so let’s just get it over with, okay? Like ripping off a band-aid.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he reached for the door and opened it anyway. “A very ugly, crossdressing band-aid. Thanks.”

The first steps were so wobbly, Sam thought he might keel over and faceplant any second. He could hear Dean guffawing behind him and gave him a two fingered salute. As Dean drove off to find a parking spot across the street, Sam sidled up to the other drag queens lurking in the shadows. He received a few looks, but mostly they ignored him in favor of swaying their hips along the street, waving at men in cars as they rode by. Sam wasn’t sure if he should do the same, but he knew he wasn’t solid enough on his feet to walk around much. He would never attract a john if he was bumbling along the curb as if he were drunk or just extremely clumsy.

But then his phone rang from his clutch. “What, Dean?”

“You know, most hookers actually look like they **want** someone to talk to them. Look inviting, not like you’re about to rip their heads off if they so much as look at you!”

Sam scowled, but Dean hung up before he can respond. He saw Dean get out of the car and jog up the street to the club. While Sam was out there, trying to get a guy to approach him, Dean was going to stay close to the club in case the ghost was actually Joanne slash John and they needed to burn the gold boa. He supposed he should try to actually get a customer, or they would be out here for a long time.

His feet already hurt like bitches and he wanted out of his shoes as soon as he could. Not to mention the tuck-away pulling on his groin hairs, the fishnet stockings itching his legs, the waxed area on his chest burning like hell and the long hair on the wig constantly blowing in his mouth.

He hated being a woman.

By the time Sam finally got propositioned by a man, an hour had gone by and all the other drag queens had gone away with johns. Sam’s feet hurt and he was hobbling along, cursing Dean and Nathan and whoever invented high heels in the first place. The john was a good-looking guy, in his early thirties, and Sam almost wanted to tell him to stop being stupid and go home to his wife and kid, when there was a blood-curdling scream in the air and he was thrown to the side by an invisible force.

He landed on his front hard, his breath thumped out of him by the force and he was momentarily shocked. He could hear the car of his potential customer peel away from the curb and then something ice cold settled over Sam, like a blanket. It held Sam down on the ground and Sam could feel the hand on his back.

“You’re a filthy whore, you don’t deserve to wear that dress. You’re a disgrace to the shoes, you whore!”

Sam yelled for Dean, unable to shake the ghost off, while it continued to spit accusations and curses in Sam’s ear. It didn’t do much more, as if it wasn’t sure what to do, or maybe it was enough for it to have scared away Sam’s possible customer. It was strong though, and Sam struggled to get up. The dress and the shoes didn’t exactly help and all too soon he realized he couldn’t do much more than wait until Dean got the boa and burnt it. If this wasn’t Joanne, they had a big problem.

As quickly as the attack happened, it ended even faster as the spirit disappeared with a loud yowl. Sam smelled the burnt boa on the air seconds before Dean pulled him up and dragged him to the car. “Let’s go, Janice isn’t too happy with me right now.”

*******

“I told you it was Joanne. We could have done without all of this horrible, **horrible** dress up thing.”

Dean smirked. “Yes, but then I wouldn’t have had the blackmail material I have now.”

“I knew it! I knew you took pictures. You ass!”

Seriously, Dean shouldn’t be surprised if he found a certain wig super-glued to his head tomorrow morning.

**The end**


End file.
